Ready to Ride

Well, the preliminaries are over the procrastination is about to be and the pedals are about to turn. The bike came out of its suitcase and was resurrected smoothly. Only missing a tiny magnet. Alas, that means no distance calculator, but I can live
with that.

My only concerns are where I will sleep each night. There are towns and hotels, but I would prefer to camp if I could find the right place.

I wrote a lot on my 3 day train ride from Moscow to here, but you will have to wait til the book comes out...
Hours and hours later.
Well, my planned 50km day turned into 95 as I never found a place I felt comfortable camping alone. Every river access point was someone could see me go down the road, and the stealthy looking places had too many bugs and not enough water. I ate 2 dollars worth of strawberries and continued riding on to the town with the hotel. Which of course was 5kms behind a headwind and then just a little further down the road into the midst of the tourist town and and two hungry hours. Later I found out they wanted$ 55 for the room! "It's a big room," they said. "I'm not a big person," I answered. "You can fit a lot of people," they said. "I am only one person," I answered. I asked if they had any 10-20$ rooms. They said no, bit I am in one Noe. The town sherriff and two of his friends overheard the commotion and saw my stressed and hungry eyes watering. Next thing you know, they gifted me this room. Which I know is more like a 39$ room. I socialized with them (cognac, not bad) over my dinner (borscht, bread and fries-pretty good). And now I must find a butilka of water and hydrate. Only difficulty tomorrow will be figuring out my sleeping arrangements again. I hope its not off and on rain again tomorrow. I'd prefer it off

Arriving at Start

June 18, 2011
Well, the train ride is coming to a close. Three nights and 2 ½ days. After the first 12 hours, I had the whole, 4-person cabin to myself. Not so conducive to friend-making. But very good for writing, sleeping and avoiding vodka excess. Generally, the train ride is about camaraderie and sharing. I still have my chocolates (well, those I managed not to eat) and the can of sardines Jude gave me as a parting gift. I can’t say I’m disappointed. I suppose the whole journey will be like this: no longer marveling in the newness of this sort of adventure, I have returned to sort of wrap things up. I doubt this means I will retire to my cat and garden, just taking day skis and after-work hikes. Itslike my bike ride last summer, b soetween Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan. I enjoyed it. Yet there was something lacking. It was no longer exciting to stay the night with local families. Sure it was another glimpse into a slice of humanity. But then what? Things are only new and marvel-ous initially. Everything can be a drug. Once acclimated, more is required. I’m not sure what the more is. Maybe by the end of this trip I will come to understand.

There’s a certain nervousness I feel, sitting in my cabin for these last 45 minutes. I had a restless, thought-filled sleep. I couldn’t eat my breakfast. I am all packed. I have a plan. But now it’s time to face the music. I’ve spent a full week getting to this point, and of course, I’m still not there yet.
Shortly I will arrive in Barnaul. I will change my clocks from Moscow time and push the arrow three hours ahead to local time. I guess it’s as if I’ve traveled from Boston to Seattle- on the train! I am arriving to a cloudless sky. Time to dig out the sunscreen.

My morning task is to go to the train station ticket window, and sort through the options of getting bak to Khabarovsk 6 weeks from now. It’s hardly enough time. The trade off for leaving so late was more time with my students and more money in my pocket. Still, it’s a pity to feel so rushed. At least it helps me prioritize my time.

Once the logistics are sorted, I have to shlep my humongous suitcase, overly heavy day pack, single pannier and large plastic bag containing my front wheel to a bus stop and get myself to Biysk, about 2 ½ hours and 10 dollars down the road. From there, a local transport called a mashrutka (hear the word ‘route” in the middle?) to the town hotel. Do I go left to the “Central Hotel-” which could be more expensive but more convenient, or right to the “Flower Hotel” which might be cheaper? Maybe someone on the bus will know. My cabin conductor is from Biysk. She at least told me about the hotels and which mashrutka I needed. Too bad I didn’t make friends and get an invitation to cmp in her yard. The day is young.

shutting down

Not just my brain. I am referring to this computer. Probably the biggest adjustment I will have to make on this trip is the mac=>pc one. I am actually having more apprehension and dread about changing OS's than changing time zones, languages, culture, comfort, and money.

Once in Alaska, I went on a 12-day glacial traverse in the Chugach Mountains. On the penultimate day, when we were to descend from the ice field, the instructors (it was a class, when the UAA outdoor education program still ruled,) woke us up at 2 am for a 4;30 start. I declared that we were waking up before we even went to sleep. And tonight is the same. In four hours my nieces are graciously driving me to the airporter express, and I will begin the 17hour journey to Moscow: the first point on the line.

Too bad I am suffering a groin injury from, of all things, bowling. But it was worth it to have such a happy family celebration of my mom's 85th birthday.

Done Deal

this price was waxing and I was tired of wavering. now I can apply my energies to the going.
First flexibility test: adjusting to Firefox 4 and the updated Alaska Airlines website. awful awful awful.

not yet a rag

one of my most treasured possessions needs Hospice. it's just about to be "just a rag" although it will never be just thoughtlessly used. In fact, I couldn't bring myself to tear it up right now. I just inhaled the smell of it deeply, folded it, and put it in the return-to-anchorage pile. because it's not yet a rag. it's still a mendable shirt. Last summer I darned a few holes in the gauzy and faded back of this plain, cotton, pale lavender, long-sleeved shirt from india. or was it nepal?.  I can't remember if it's five years old or more or less. but I know it fully represents my bicycle journeys in Central Asia. and it represents me. a bit worse for the wear, but still has potential, has uses, has value. A most treasured value. experienced and rich.

Three weeks from Thursday, two weeks from Tuesday

I have done this enough times now that packing up for a bike adventure takes very little time. In fact, last Friday night I went through two years of accumulated stuff and sorted it into the standard groups: give away, store here in Boston, return home to Alaska, and take on my bike trip. I packed up my panniers, saw that there was plenty of room for food and water, and then unstuffed my sleeping bag to let everything rest on the shelf for 5 more weeks until my trip. On Sunday I cleaned and dismantled my Bike Friday Pocket Llama, set it in the suitcase I got through freecycle, found that it passed the fit test, and reassembled the litttle blue bike. I've been riding it to work and for errands. Amazingly, Boston is shedding its reputation for "Boston drivers" and is becoming a world class, bicycle friendly city. Truly transformed. Meanwhile, I continue crossing things off the list. Three weeks from Thursday I fly to Anchorage to transport my possessions back home and meet my mysterious next door neighbor.  Two weeks after I return, I fly off to Russia for my next adventure.

It's a pity I have only 7 weeks. I know for most Americans, that's a heck of a vacation. But for most cycle tourists, it hardly feels worth the effort. I still have a slight ambivalence about the journey, to the point that while I have purchased my outbound BOS-MOW flight, I have yet to buy the return KHV-SEA and SEA-ANC legs. I tell myself I am waiting for my visa. Which I would've had by now if I my corpus callosum had been a bit more robust. You see, the organizing side of my brain set my passport over in the growing pile of Things To Take On My Trip to Mexico With My Mom during April vacation. Meanwhile, the planning side of my brain picked up my passport and entered all my vital details into an on-line form, and then sent it off for a Russian visa- all quick-like, using a laser printer and FedEx. The night came to pack for April vacation and I could not find my passport anywhere. I found a few other missing items, but my roommate and I tore my room apart and found not a trace of the document. I guess because Mom and I were only flying to Phoenix (and taking a bus tour to Mexico from there) that it didn't occur to me that I needed it for the vacation. Meanwhile, it was en route to DC to the visa service company. I managed to intercept it before it actually reached the embassy, and it was re-routed to the Phoenix hotel before our bus departure. So there was a two-week delay in even applying for the visa, and it won't be until May16th that I will have it in hand. I don't think I'll postpone buying the return ticket that long. I need to spend the money to know the trip is really happening, so I can get on with the business at hand. The purposes of the trip.

I suppose starting this blog tonight is one of the main purposes. To write. Those of you who have ever seen my slide shows or heard my stories or read my travel emails or gotten some of my original postcards are the ones who have encouraged me to write. "You should write a book!" you've said. "I'm going to write a book," I've said. Well, the time of going has arrived and the netbook has been purchased. A bit of techno-tweaking and I should be set to actually write. I hope the train segments are long enough. I hope my audience is present and listening. I hope there is no electronics theft or damage. I hope I have enough power. But I feel confident at least in starting my story by going back to the beginning. And by the time I arrive home, I hope it will be completed.

Of course there are other purposes: being in the landscape, enjoying the sky, making my body strong and lean, speaking Russian, speaking Mongolian, crossing the originally intended border at Tashaanta, now that it's open to foreigners, seeing the Gobi Altai, and of course, eating as much as I want and losing weight. But the strongest purpose is to go back the way I had intended to go on my very first trip of naivete,  finding an understanding of what has motivated me to ride,  exploring issues of rootedness and restlessness. And also to find my voice and my audience. In the end it may be an audience of one- but I want to see what I have to say and to see if I can make sense to me.